Of Loss and Forgiveness
by L. Harris
Summary: Set right after "Father's Day," season one. A little one-shot scene that seemed to need writing, wherein Rose deals with her guilt and the Doctor gets a lesson in the subtle nuances of comforting.


Like all humans, Rose Tyler needed sleep. At least five hours out of 24. No matter what planet's orbit they fell into, there was a point at which her seemingly-endless energy waned and the Doctor knew that it was time to head back to the TARDIS. He made a habit of teasing her about her troublesome human habits, groaning about how she was slowing him down until she would punch him playfully in the arm and run off to her room, emerging a few hours later ready to tackle the universe once more.

It had been a full 47 hours since he and Rose had left 1987 London behind, but neither of them had left the console room since he had set them on a course for the Andromeda Galaxy. Shrunk against a coral strut, Rose had watched him work and shrugged off any attempt at conversation. He knew she must be mourning and that he, who had known so much loss, should be comforting her, telling her that everything would be all right, that she'd be fine. But the truth is, he knew she wouldn't. Not for a while, anyway.

They had gone on this way for a long time, him bustling needlessly around the controls and checking the wires for shorts while she sat watching him, quietly, her eyes dark but dry. She had nodded off a few times, her head drooping against her chest, but she never slept for long even though he knew she must be exhausted. Once or twice she had drifted to his side, offering to hold a spare bit of machinery while he tweaked the inner workings of the TARDIS, but finally he had suggested that she lay down and she hadn't argued.

He watched her leave the console room, and as the door to the hallway clicked shut behind her he turned back to his work with a sigh. He had known that taking her to see her father would be a mistake. He hadn't realized what a damned big one it would be until it was too late, and now they would both have to live with the consequences.

After an hour of tinkering with the wires beneath the main hub, the Doctor gave the repairs up for a bad job and hoisted himself back onto the platform, eyeing the light pulsing within the time rotor ruefully. The TARDIS was still recovering from being thrown out of the wound in time, and even though she was fully functional again, the sparks that singed his fingers as he reached out to toggle one of the controls on the console told him that she had yet to forgive him.

Rolling his eyes, he gathered up his jacket and sonic screwdriver. "Caught the hint," he muttered, ignoring the indignant hum that issued up from somewhere beneath his feet. Shrugging, he made his way down the hall and paced towards the library, wondering idly if he would find the door locked.

All thoughts of what revenge his ship might have in store were forgotten as an odd, low sound broke the silence of the hallway. It was a quavering, pained keen and it took only moments for the identity of its source to register in his racing mind. The soles of his boots pounded dully on the carpeted floor as he sped through an automatic door, dashed down two hallways and threw himself around a corner. It only took seconds to reach Rose's door, but it felt like an eternity.

Any consideration for privacy was thrown aside as he shouldered through the door and forced his eyes to adjust to the dark within. The lump in the bed that he knew to be Rose was shaking under the covers, but when he called her name, there was no answer.

"Rose…" His voice sounded odd in this foreign space, and as he edged his way towards the bedside table it occurred to him that he hadn't been in this room since his new companion had taken up residence. She had been so happy to have a place of her own, and each day the TARDIS seemed to find a new way to add to the human comforts that she never admitted to missing.

"Doctor?" The voice that answered him was groggy, and he realized that she must have been crying in her sleep. He considered leaving, not wanting to embarrass her, but one look at her tear-blotched face kept him rooted to the spot.

"You were dreaming. Heard you from two wings away. Rose, you — " But whatever he was about to say stuck in his throat as tears filled her eyes and she buried her face in the folds of the thick, white quilt.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's stupid, I know, but I can't stop thinkin' about it." Her voice, muffled by the comforter, was higher than usual and came out in gasps. Unnerved, the Doctor eased himself awkwardly onto the bed beside her and put a hand on her shaking back.

"I know you… miss him. It's not easy, what you saw. Bloody stupid of me to let you go back there." His eyebrows pressed together as he summoned up the right words to express how sorry he was that she had had to watch her father die. How his anger at the risk she had taken had evaporated as he watched her stroke the dying man's hair in the middle of the street, the sound of sirens weak in the distance.

To his surprise, she shook her head. "It's not that," she whispered. "I mean, I miss my dad, but he was always more of a dream than a man to me."

"Then why…?" The Doctor watched with curiosity as color flushed her cheeks and she stared down at her hands, knuckles white as she clutched the quilt even harder.

"It's my fault all those people… everyone would have died because of me! All I wanted was to see him, just once, alive and happy but I was just bein' selfish. God, I'm so stupid! And then you — " A fresh sob shook her body as she wiped at her streaming eyes. "You were gone, and I thought I'd never see you again."

The look she gave him then almost stopped his hearts, and before he realized what he was doing, he had reached out and pressed her against his chest. Her fingers clutched at his jumper and he could feel cool tearstains growing where her head was flush with her collarbone, but he didn't mind. On the contrary, it was wonderful to feel the heat of her in his arms, the smell of Rose drifting up to his nostrils as he bent his head over her tousled hair.

"It's over now, Rose," he said, his voice rough with emotions he refused to give himself over to.

She pulled away gently, just far enough to be able to look up at him through a tangle of hair and tears as she drew in deep, shaky breaths.

"Forgive me," she whispered. "Please."

"Already done," he said firmly, and was instantly rewarded with a smile that lit up her makeup-smeared face.

Her eyelids were drooping by this time, her body rebelling against her mind for the extra effort of staying upright and he was reminded once again of how long it had been since she had last slept. He eased her down onto the feather pillows and tucked the comforter up around her shoulders, but when he tried to stand he felt her fingers locked on the fabric of his sleeve. His mouth tipped into a smile as he settled back on the bed, hesitating briefly before lying down beside her and draping his arm over her small, supine form.

"Hmmm," she murmured, wriggling closer to him until her body fit snugly against his, her head resting in the crook of his arm. Her deep, regular breathing told him she had already succumbed to sleep.

The Doctor knew that this was not the last time they would talk about what happened that day. He too had felt the press of death and known the fear in each of the humans that he had shielded from the monsters who had been drawn to the time wound like flies to a corpse. But in the end, it had all been for her. And for now, it was enough lie next to her, spinning through time and space towards a future that was both unknown and limitless.


End file.
